


Welcome to the Jingle

by Jmeelee



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Getting Together, M/M, Pack Feels, Strippers & Strip Clubs, The Jungle (Teen Wolf)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-26
Updated: 2019-12-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:21:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21977254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jmeelee/pseuds/Jmeelee
Summary: Derek could admit—only to himself, of course, never out loud—that he was a little desperate to make new holiday traditions with his (officially all adults now thank god) pack.  But his ideas had run more along the lines of a cozy take-out dinner at his new apartment, an ugly sweater or white elephant party, or maybe volunteering at the local soup kitchen.It had not involved spending Christmas Eve atJungle.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 22
Kudos: 257
Collections: The Sterek Secret Santa - Edition 2019





	Welcome to the Jingle

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NegativeNorth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NegativeNorth/gifts).



Derek was positive he’d never seen so much glitter and tinsel in his life, and he’d grown up with two sisters and seven female cousins. 

“Tell me why we’re here again?” he whispered out the side of his mouth at Boyd, ever his most level-headed beta. The temperature had dropped with the sun, and his words swirled into mist before they dispersed into the night air. Derek could admit—only to himself, of course, never out loud—that he was a little desperate to make new holiday traditions with his (officially all adults now thank god) pack. But his ideas had run more along the lines of a cozy take-out dinner at his new apartment, an ugly sweater or white elephant party, or maybe volunteering at the local soup kitchen. 

It had _not_ involved spending Christmas Eve at Jungle. 

“It was this, or karaoke, Derek,” Erica answered with a grimace. “And I’ve heard you sing.”

“But this?” Derek motioned to the _“Ladies” Night_ vinyl banner hanging over the front door, flapping in the cool night breeze. “Male strippers don’t seem especially… festive.”

“Maybe they’ll be wearing red and green thongs,” Isaac supplied, snuggling his red-tipped nose further into the fashionable scarf wrapped artfully around his neck. 

They flashed their IDs at the bouncer, a burly dude Derek recognized from high school, but couldn’t attach a name to the unsmiling face. The guy, decked out head to toe in black except for a necklace of merrily twinkling plastic holiday lights, gave Derek a curious once-over, then addressed Erica. “Hale, party of ten?”

Derek opened his mouth to refute the number, but Erica flashed a megawatt smile. “That’s us.”

He handed her a white laminated card proclaiming _Welcome to The Jingle_ in blocky stenciled letters. “You’re at the VIP table, center stage.” He hiked a thumb over his shoulder. “The rest of your party is already here.”

“Who are we meeting?” Derek asked Boyd. He really wasn’t up for making conversation with people he didn’t know. “What’s going on?”

“You’ll see.” Boyd managed to make the statement, punctuated by a slap on the back, seem ominous. “Don’t say we never gave you anything.” 

Cutting through the thick-as-molasses crowd was slow going. All around him, sweaty middle-aged women screeched at a beefy guy with thighs to rival Derek’s in circumference, bumping and grinding up on the stage to Lady Gaga’s _Christmas Tree_. Isaac had been wrong about the red and green thongs; this guys wasn’t wearing anything but a fur-trimmed santa hat. The whole place reeked of stale perfume and cheap baby oil. One woman threw a lacy blue bra on stage. 

Not for the first time that evening—and most of the time, if he was being honest—Derek found himself missing Stiles, who wasn’t due home from his last semester until the day after Christmas. Right about now Stiles would be riling up the pack good-naturedly, making inappropriate jokes, pulling begrudging smiles from Derek. Stiles would love the ridiculousness of male strippers on Christmas Eve, would help Derek embrace the fun in every chaotic adventure they found themselves in. 

The throng parted and Derek got a glimpse of some familiar faces sitting around a table with a hot-pink tented _Reserved_ sign. “Scott! Kira!” Derek exclaimed, heart alight with happiness. “I didn’t think you were due back from Japan until January!”

“Are you kidding?” Kira said with a smile. “We wouldn’t miss this!”

“Neither would we,” his sister Cora said, motioning to Lydia and leaning over the table to give Derek a kiss on the cheek.

“I would gladly have missed it,” Jackson said in a bored tone, wrapping his arm around Ethan’s shoulder, “but there’s really nothing else to do in this podunk town.”

Allison rolled her eyes. “The population of Beacon Hills is almost thirty-thousand, Jackson. It’s nothing compared to London’s eight million, or the two million in Paris, but we’re certainly not in the backwoods.” 

“I can’t believe you all traveled home for the holidays, and decided the first thing you wanted to do was go see a strip show. Don’t get me wrong, I’m thrilled to have everyone back, but…” Derek trailed off. He was honestly a little baffled. Except for Cora and Lydia, everyone in their ragtag group had twenty-four-seven access to dick, either their own or their partners, and looking around, he’d wager when you counted in all the full-moon runs through the preserve that had ended with naked shifts back from their wolfy forms, they’d all seen more penis over the last year than any of the other customers in the infamous gay club. Why they wanted to see more, and on Christmas Eve of all nights, made no sense.

“We’re all here for support,” Scott said with a wink. _Support? Supporting who?_

Erica man-handeled Derek into the booth as the stripper on stage ended his dance to uproarious applause and explicit cat-calls, and sat on the end so Derek couldn’t escape. 

“Ladies and gentlemen, put your hands together for Sexy Santa!” The announcer called into the hand-held microphone. Santa took a few deep bows and blew several kisses. ”If you jingle his bells, he’ll give you a white Christmas.”

Derek stood up. _Screw traditions and pack bonding._ “Yeah, no. I’m going home. See you all in the morning.”

Erica grabbed him by the back of his leather jacket, seams screaming in protest as she forcefully pulled him back into the booth. “Sit down! You’re going to miss the main attraction!”

“Why should I care about seeing whomever is taking their clothes off next?”

Erica’s smile was evil. ”Because you know him.”

”Wha--” The overhead lights dimmed, casting the stage, outlined in dim red rope lighting, into darkness. The opening riff of _Welcome to the Jungle_ screamed through the sound system, foundation accompanied by festive jingling bells and a heavy rolling baseline that pounded the floor under Derek’s feet, vibrating his legs until they felt like jelly.

_Welcome to the jingle, get out your toys and games_

_Got you on the naughty list baby, you’ll call out our names_

_Hard and rough or slow and kind_

_whatever you may need_

_If you got that package, honey_

_Wrap it up for me_

”What the f--” Derek didn’t get to finish. A gold-yellow spotlight came on, sudden and blinding, illuminating a dancer on stage. He was dressed in knee-high red and white striped socks, ridiculous curved black elf shoes, and a black thong with a wrapped, bow-topped present super glued directly over his crotch.

The dancer was Stiles.

Stiles, so lithe and pale, creamy snow-white skin a stark contrast to the rippling oiled bronze muscles of Sexy Santa, but no less alluring. He was lean lines of smooth stomach and slightly jutting hip bones. He was sinewy arms and thin but powerful thighs. A small layer of sweat pooled at the back of Derek’s neck, a single trickle dropping down the back of his t-shirt.

Long-fingered hands grabbed on to a gleaming silver pole as he undulated his body out and in, shoulders and spine rolling, perfectly timed to the music. A murmur of appreciation rippled through Derek’s chest like a growl. After a few sinuous circuits around the pole, Stiles arched back, pulling himself off the ground, curling like a snake around the silver metal as he spun, thighs quivering slightly. The crowd went wild, money raining down on the stage floor.

Stiles uncurled, absurd elf shoes dropping back to the floor. He shimmied toward the edge of the stage, faux-package bobbing before Derek’s eyes as he fell into a deep squat in front of the packs booth. He had the audacity to wink at Derek, who was extremely grateful he was sitting down, the tent in his pants hidden from view under the table. Stiles dropped down onto his elbows and forearms, pelvis oscillating inches above the floor.

Stiles collected a few bills in the strap of his g-string, then crawled back toward the pole on his hands and knees, giving Derek and the rest of the audience a fantastic view of his ass. He stepped in front of the pole, grabbed it from behind with both hands and thrust his hips into the air.

The whole pack came to their feet, screaming and whistling so loud Derek missed the last few bastardized lyrics of the song. Stiles took one final spin around the pole before taking a bow.

The announcer called for one last round of applause and Stiles disappeared backstage. 

“That was amazing!” Kira screamed, bouncing on her toes.

Jackson huffed. “Why can’t Stilinski ever show that much grace and coordination when we have to take down a threat?”

The announcer slunk over to the edge of the stage and motioned to Derek. “This is for you,” he said, handing Derek a slip of white paper. The pack broke out in a collective “ohhhhhh!” Unfolding it, Derek found a note written in Stiles’ slanted script: _Meet me in the parking lot in ten minutes._

“We’ll see you tomorrow morning to open our presents, Erica said with a smirk, sliding out of the booth and granting Derek his freedom. “Tell Stiles we _all_ enjoyed the show.”

And Derek meant to, as soon as Stiles walked up to him in the parking lot, now fully dressed, but instead what fell out of his mouth was, “Dear God, are those fake elf ears?” Derek reached up and ran a finger along the pointed tip of Stiles’ ear. “You are such a nerd.”

Stiles threw his head back and laughed, exposing the long line of his pale neck, the heat of his breath rolling toward the black sky in white misty clouds. “When I play a part, I _commit_. I had an extra pair laying around from that Halloween I was Spock.” He flashed Derek the Vulcan salute.

“Is this a part you’ll be playing a lot now that you’re officially back in Beacon Hills?” Derek asked, gesturing at the _“Ladies” Night_ sign, now hanging haphazardly over the club door. “You were amazing up there.”

“Are you kidding? My father would _kill_ me. This was just a favor for the girls. They were short on dancers because of the holiday.” He looked Derek up and down, weighing his words against the line of Derek’s shoulder and the clench of his jaw. “But there is _something_ I’m hoping to commit to. Someone.”

Derek stepped closer, pulling Stiles into his chest. “This _someone_ better appreciate your dance moves.”

Stiles rubbed his hips against Derek’s. “Oh, I’m absolutely sure he does.” He came up on top-toe, closing the last few inches of space between their mouths. 

“The pack will be expecting breakfast tomorrow,” Derek gasped, pulling back from the kiss. Stiles’ face followed his, biting playfully at his bottom lip.

“Don’t worry, I make a mean stack of pancakes.” He slipped their hands together and squeezed, a warm, gentle pressure. “Come on, Derek.” He smiled, cheeks glimmering in the moonlight with iridescent glitter. “Take me home.”

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Dori for the speed beta!!!


End file.
